


Betrayal

by wrennette



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Betrayal, Branding, Dark!Arthur, Future Fic, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry, Whump, archiving old words, discovery of magic, taking liberties with Arthurania
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 17:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4795319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur does not take it well when he discovers Merlin's magic. Future fic. Dark!Arthur. <b>WARNING! Contains torture and non-consensual sexual situations. If this offends or squicks you, DO NOT READ</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Betrayal

**Author's Note:**

> Archiving from LJ. Originally posted 2009.
> 
> Disclaimer: Recognizable characters are the property of the BBC, not the author. The author makes no profit.
> 
> Original AN: This fic is sort of schizo, as it totally didn't want to end where I meant it to, and the portions beyond where I meant to end are just - very much not what I intended. Sorry? Also, apologies for any technical mistakes, as I didn't read through very carefully once I finished writing, because I just wanted to get rid of the damn thing.

It's the stupidest of things. The most idiotic of ways for Arthur to find out about his magic. He had always imagined it would somehow be heroic, him saving Arthur from some mystical creature or healing a grievous wound. Instead, he just didn't manage to get the damnable book put away in time one day when Arthur came barging into his room, and they stared at one another silently, Arthur's expression shifting from something open and joyous to cold anger, Merlin stilling in sudden shocked fear. Arthur whirled away, clattered down the stairs to the main floor of the chambers that once belonged to Gaius and were now Merlin's alone. Startled out of stillness by the crash of the door, Merlin shoved the book into his cupboard and raced after the Crown Prince. 

"Arthur," Merlin called desperately, fear making him fleet. His worn out boots skidded over the time worn cobbles as he took the corners without slowing, and finally he reached Arthur's quarters just in time to slip through the door before Arthur slammed it. "Please," he gasped out, bent double and panting with exertion. "I can explain, please." Arthur's eyes were cold as death though, the sparkling blue bringing to mind ice chips, not the summer sky. "Please," he plead, and Arthur's face shifted slightly, but Merlin knew Arthur's expression like he knew magic, like he knew himself, and he only had a split second to prepare himself before Arthur backhanded him roughly.

The sharp sting of Arthur's ring against his cheek made his breath catch, and the force of the blow sent him spinning back against the door. He brought his fingers to his cheek in disbelief, then pulled them back, looking at the crimson blood in shock. They had fought before, more than once, and Arthur routinely struck him, but only in combat training, never out of anger. He looked from the blood on his fingertips to Arthur dumbly, still a bit in shock. 

"Arthur," he breathed, and Arthur struck him again, harder, this time knocking him to the floor. 

"I trusted you," Arthur hissed out. "I trusted you!"

To that, Merlin had no answer. He remained crouched on the floor, looking warily up at Arthur through his lashes and his fringe. I need an haircut he thought absently, then pushed the thought aside, because if he wasn't exceedingly carefully, he was going to end up with his neck cut. 

"Please," Merlin offered softly. "I can explain. I promise Arthur..." he started, but he never finished about how he promised that his magic was for Arthur, to serve his purposes, protect him, because Arthur's hand fisted in his hair, jerked him to his feet. He couldn't help his instinctual reaction, which was to lash out, try and hit Arthur back, because it fucking well hurt to be hauled to his feet by his hair. Arthur had other ideas though. The moment Merlin lashed out, Arthur's hands were on him, catching his arms and restraining him. Within a few moments Arthur had both of Merlin's wrists caught tight, gripped together in a single hand and twisted down against Merlin's back. 

"Please," Merlin whimpered even as Arthur frog-marched him to the table. Arthur just shoved Merlin down, then deftly bound his slender wrists. Merlin wriggled against the bonds, trying to free himself, trying to stand. Arthur's hand between his shoulder blades kept him bent over the table though, and the deftly tied knot didn't budge. "I can explain," he whimpered plaintively, listening to Arthur pace distractedly up and down the flagged floor. "Please." Finally Arthur grunted softly, then grabbed Merlin's wrists and manhandled him to the chair. Arthur sat, tossing Merlin carelessly at the floor. Unable to brace himself with his hands, Merlin went to his knees hard, crying out sharply as he flopped to the ground. He squirmed around until he could see Arthur, then quailed back, not liking the hard expression on the Prince's face. 

"I can't help it," Merlin started, and Arthur snorted in dark amusement. "Really," Merlin hurried on, "I was born like this Arthur. I can't remember a time when I wasn't a sorcerer. I - it was me, when we went to Ealdor. It was me. And it was me, when we killed the Afanc, and when Lancelot killed the Gryphon, and when you ran off with Sofia. Please, Sire, I beg you. Everything I've done since I came to Camelot, every tiny bit of magic, all of it has been for you, in your service. I promise Ar-Sire. I promise, I would never use my magic against you, please, never, I would - I couldn't. Please. You have to understand," he begged and the words tripped over themselves out of his mouth, pleases and promises, because his life was in Arthur's hands, and he wasn't above begging to keep it. Arthur didn't move, didn't say anything, just sat there, his expression having changed from barely leashed rage to something more thoughtful. 

"You swear it?" Arthur finally asked. "You swear that you are no danger to me, or to the people of Albion?" Merlin nodded hastily. 

"I am a danger only to your enemies," he said, and Arthur nodded curtly, leaning back once more in thought. 

"Gaius knew," Arthur said after a while, a statement of fact rather than a question, and Merlin simply nodded, glad that Gaius had died naturally, before this had come to pass. Harbouring a sorcerer was almost as great a crime in Camelot as actually being a sorcerer. Darkness settled in the room, creeping out from the corners where it hid daylong to engulf them. Still Arthur did not stir, not even to call for the lamps to be lit. 

"Show me," Arthur said after a long while, a disembodied voice in the shadows. "Light the fire on the hearth." Merlin nodded, then closed his eyes in concentration. He pushed away the swollen throbbing of his cheek where Arthur had struck him and the sharp pains of his bruised knees. He pushed away the tingling of his too tightly bound hands, and reached out, feeling for the hearth, for the dry wood that rested there, waiting for the cool of evening. He flexed his fingers, not feeling the sharp stab of pain, and then let out a long slow breath. The fire sparked behind him, kindling with a thought and instantly rising to warm and light the room. Arthur stood, going to the mantel. He stared into the flames, then at Merlin, still kneeling awkwardly on the floor, twisting to look back at him. 

"I know," Merlin said softly before Arthur could even ask, _do you have any idea how insanely dangerous this is?_ "I kept it from you for a reason," Merlin said softly, and Arthur knew every one of Merlin's shamefaced expressions, and this is the one where Merlin was deadly earnest, and so very sorry, but didn't know how to make things right. "I didn't - I didn't want to take our - our relationship -" he settled on, because at the moment he didn't dare think of Arthur as his friend, let alone his lover. "- for granted. I didn't want it to be on your shoulders." He understood that. He did. But still. The betrayal of it. He straightened himself up, closing the distance between himself and Merlin. Merlin's eyes tracked him, wary still. Good. 

"Get up," Arthur ordered, cool and crisp, and it took a few stumbling tries, but eventually Merlin managed to fight to his feet, and Arthur once again grabbed his bound wrists. He again shoved Merlin to the table, then deftly undid the tight knot. Merlin gasped as circulation was suddenly returned to his hands, then again as Arthur roughly turned him over and then bound his hands again, this time spread eagle. 

Arthur went back to the roaring fire, grabbing a poker and shoving the tip deep into the hot coals. As it heated, he crossed back to Merlin, ripped open the front of his thin tunic. Merlin looked up, eyes wide in confusion, and Arthur could see the half formed questions in his stormy eyes, so he raised his hand in silent threat, and Merlin's parted lips snapped shut immediately. Arthur nodded once, then went back to the fire, gloving his hand before he pulled the poker out. 

"They used to brand sorcerers," Arthur said almost conversationally, holding up the glowing iron, and Merlin quivered with fear. "They say that magic and iron don't mix, that a wound inflicted with iron cannot be healed or disguised through magic."

Horror made Merlin's eyes wide and round, made his already pale skin pallid. Arthur's face remained flat and cold, even as he drew the white hot poker down Merlin's pectoral muscle, even as Merlin screamed in blinding pain and abject terror. Arthur drew the rune carefully, returning the iron to the fire between each stroke. By the end Merlin was shivering and glassy eyed with agony, halfway into shock. The bloody burn stood out starkly crimson against his white flesh, and distantly Arthur couldn't help but think it was rather pretty, that combination of red and white.

"Do you know what it means?" Arthur asked, the iron clattering to the floor as he traced the bloody wound with the tip of his finger. Merlin shuddered, whimpering softly, voice broken beyond use. "Answer me," Arthur growled, jabbing with his finger at the fresh brand, and Merlin howled in pain, writhing against the table. 

"Property," Merlin sobbed out finally. "Othala is the symbol for property." Arthur smiled grimly, patting Merlin's cheek in a mockery of kindness, smearing blood across his pale skin. 

"Very good," Arthur said, saccharine sweet, and Merlin keened softly in pain. "I own you," Arthur hissed, breath hot against Merlin's face. "Do you understand? You do nothing without my permission. Nothing." Merlin let out a slow whimper, but nodded quickly. "What's that?" Arthur asked sweetly, fingers tracing the edge of Merlin's muscle, close to the new brand but not quite at it, and Merlin tried to shy away from the touch but couldn't, could only shudder in place. 

"Yes Sire," Merlin choked out, and Arthur smiled grimly, then cut his sorcerer's hands free. Merlin reached up, rubbing circulation back into his hands, and Arthur took the opportunity to again grab him by the hair and throw him to the floor. 

"You will do as I say, when I say," Arthur ordered, and Merlin nodded. 

"Yes Sire," Merlin answered, needing no further prompting. Arthur's smile widened into something predatory as he strode into the circle of golden warmth and light near the fire. 

"Come here," Arthur said, and it was almost his normal tone of voice, but it was harder than Merlin was accustomed to. But he could not refused, and so he shuffled over to the Prince on his knees, still rubbing at his wrists. Already he could feel the bruises forming there and on his cheek and knees, and he focused on those bearable pains to cope with the overwhelming pain of the wound burnt into his chest. When he was nearer to Arthur, he recognized the naked lust in his eyes, and for the first time since he had learned that expression, it chilled him rather than warmed him. This had been his favorite part for some months now, the stolen moments when they were not prince and servant, but two men taking pleasure in one another's company. 

Merlin swallowed thickly, concentrating on the burn of his throat. He could see the beginning of an erection straining Arthur's breeches, and he whimpered softly in fear. They had both been slightly drunk the first time the stumbled into bed together, Merlin mourning the loss of Gaius and Arthur more than willing to comfort him. But this. Merlin knew that this was something very different, and he hated it before it started, because he knew that for this, he could be anyone, and after this, it would never be the same. He had always known that knowledge of his magic would change things. He had just never imagined how much. 

"Go ahead," Arthur growled, and Merlin closed his eyes, knowing that if he kept them open Arthur would be able to see his heart breaking. Then he took a deep breath and reached up, still clumsy with pins and needles, and opened Arthur's breeches. Arthur was only half hard, and Merlin again closed his eyes, steeling himself. He took another deep breath, then leaned up and flickered his tongue over the slit before engulfing the whole head. He sucked wetly, bobbing his head down to take as much of Arthur as possible, working fast to get this horror over with. He deep throated Arthur fairly easily after the past few months of practice, and for a moment, he thought he would get away with it, just sucking Arthur off as fast as possible. 

Arthur's hand, rough in his hair corrected him, pulled him off Arthur's now rigid, leaking cock. Merlin winced as his wound pulled with his movement, holding as still as possible. Arthur grabbed him by the shoulder and roughly hauled him to his feet, then shoved him back over to the table. He gasped sharply in pain as he was bent over, long fingers scrabbling against the polished wood before finding the edge and holding on. He bit his lip to hold back a pained curse as Arthur shoved a dry finger into him. Despite that they had been lovers for some months, they had only fucked once, that first drunken night, and Merlin had been the one penetrating Arthur, not the other way around. 

He had been topped before, since coming to Camelot even. But he knew that this would be very different than his awkward teenage fumblings with Will or the innate trust and burning lust that had pulled him into Lancelot's arms. He had sworn though, and if this was what it took, the thought made Merlin choke on bile. Still. If this was what it took for Arthur to trust him again. If it took surrendering everything he was to Arthur's indomitable will, if that was what it took to convince Arthur that he was worth keeping alive, he would do it. He would do anything to keep his head attached to his shoulders. So he bit his lips until they bled and held in his pained sobs as Arthur fingered him perfunctorily and then slammed into him without warning. 

It was a hard, fast taking, and Merlin was vaguely grateful that at least Arthur didn't draw it out or make it more painful than it already was. He just lay there, forcing himself to stillness, forcing his body to relax, forcing himself to stay silent as Arthur grunted and swore and pounded into him ruthlessly. Finally Arthur came, jets of hot come splattering into Merlin, and Merlin ground his teeth as he was left empty. The pain of Arthur pulling out was almost worse than the pain of the initial penetration, and he couldn't help but feel worthless, used, as Arthur's seed oozed down his trembling thighs. 

"Clean yourself up," Arthur sneered. "You'll be staying here. I don't want you out of my sight, but I don't want you looking a mess either."

Merlin nodded silently, going slowly to the alcove where the ewer and basin were kept. Quickly he wiped the come from between his legs, then dabbed the dried blood from his cheek. Only when he was otherwise clean did he dare look at the wound on his chest. It took up his entire pectoral over his heart, the flesh red and raw, weeping blood and ichor. Ash and other detritus clung to the wound, and Merlin knew he would need to clean it carefully or risk infection, but he could barely bring himself to touch it. Gently he prodded at it with his fingers, wincing and nearly crying out as fresh pain lanced through him. Knowing there was no other option, he grit his teeth and dabbed at it with a cloth, cleaning the blood away until long after the water in the basin had gone pink and then red.

Even once the wound was clean it oozed fluid, and Merlin could feel the itch of iron down to his bones. Knowing his shirt was ruined for aught else, Merlin carefully ripped it into bandages and bound the wound. He would have to poultice it at some point, but he was unsure when he would be able to if Arthur would not let him leave the chambers. By the time he finished cleaning and binding the wound, the lamps had been lit throughout the room, and some other servant had brought up dinner. There was only enough food for one though, and as Merlin tentatively approached, Arthur gave him a cold glance, then pointed to the floor beside his chair. 

Merlin knelt carefully, wincing slightly as his bruised knees complained. Arthur said nothing though, just turned back to his supper in silence. Merlin waited, and when Arthur was finished, he took Merlin's chin between his fingers and twisted the sorcerer's head so he could see his face. For a long moment Arthur searched Merlin's face, and then he undid his sword belt and looped it around Merlin's neck like a collar, then fastened the other end to the leg of the heavy table. Merlin knew it wouldn't be terribly difficult to get free, and he knew that Arthur knew that if he really felt like it, this was no containment at all. But Merlin saw it for the test it was, and so still holding Arthur's eyes, he crossed his wrists in front of himself and held them up silently. 

A slow spark of trust flickered in Arthur's eyes, then faded away. Arthur just nodded, then deftly bound Merlin's wrists, this time not so tight. For the remainder of the evening, Arthur went about his tasks s if nothing were out of the ordinary, and Merlin held himself as still and silent as he could. When Arthur was ready for bed, he unbound Merlin's hands and undid the end of the end of the belt that was fastened around the table leg. Merlin's hands shook as he undressed Arthur, and before the prince slid between his sheets, he fastened the end of the belt to one of the posts of his bed. Merlin went unbidden to his knees and once more offered his wrists. 

_Anything it takes_ Merlin reminded himself as Arthur bound his wrists once more. _Anything to stay alive_ , he told himself as Arthur guided his head towards his half hard cock. This time Arthur allowed Merlin to finish him with his mouth, coming with a soft little sigh after a while, then almost tenderly carding his fingers through Merlin's hair. Merlin closed his eyes against his tears of shame, and then Arthur was dousing the lamps and climbing into bed. Merlin held himself awake and alert through the night, shivering in the chill of the draughty apartments. By the time wan predawn shimmered beyond the thick windows, he was certain he was running a low grade fever.

If Arthur noticed that Merlin was vaguely grey or trembling and sweaty, he did not say anything, and until Arthur finished his breakfast, Merlin remained bound to the bedpost. Arthur released his servant to be dressed, then removed the belt altogether. 

"Chainmail," Arthur ordered. "We'll be training today." Merlin complied silently, keeping his eyes down cast. If he had looked up, perhaps Arthur would have noticed that his cheeks were flushed with unhealthy colour and his eyes were fever-glazed, but he did not, and so Arthur did not. The symptoms were soon disguised by the pain of raising his arm, which caused the still oozing wound to pull, and the exertions of training.

In the years since first coming to Camelot, Merlin had improved markedly with the blade. He would never be mistaken for a Knight, but he could, on most days, manage not to fall over his own feet. Between his sleepless night and the constant low level pains though, as well as the sharp waves of agony every time he moved his dominant arm, he was easily defeated in round after round. Finally his exhaustion was too much, and when Arthur once more knocked him to the ground, he couldn't gather the energy to rise. Arthur swore at him vociferously, insulted his parentage and his manhood, and then ripped the helmet from his head, intent on slapping him into motion. 

Seeing Merlin's face stopped Arthur in his tracks though, because angry, frustrated and betrayed as he felt, he could still recognize the look of a man holding onto life by the barest of margins. Merlin barely met Arthur's eyes, but what he saw there must have given him some small measure of comfort, because he formed Arthur's given name soundlessly, then slumped back to the ground, out cold. Hurriedly Arthur fumbled the mail from Merlin's bony frame, and saw that the wound had fully opened. Merlin's slender chest was slick and red with blood, the bandage saturated black with it.

For the next four days, Merlin lay on a cot in front of Arthur's hearth, sweating out his fever. Arthur tended the wound as he was able, anger and guilt warring in his chest. _How could I_ , he thought one moment as Merlin whimpered in pain, and _he betrayed me_ the next, turning away in anger, fists clenching at his sides lest he do something he might later regret. Despite his limited knowledge of healing, the infection passed and the fever broke, and Merlin blinked slowly awake. Merlin hissed softly in pain as he tried to sit, and Arthur was at his side in an instant, reaching out to help Merlin sit. Merlin shied away though, fear writ large on his expressive face, and Arthur's joy at Merlin's recovery was hurriedly replaced with frustrated anger. Arthur stalked back away from Merlin, hands once again clenching into fists. 

"Get dressed," Arthur growled softly, shoulders bunching in anger. "Get dressed and get out of my sight." He heard the soft shufflings of Merlin dressing behind him, but he didn't turn. He just stood there in silent, frustrated impotence, tension coiling tighter and tighter in his shoulders, until he heard the soft scrape and thump of the heavy door opening and closing. The only sound was the fire on the hearth, and he let out a single low hitching sob, knowing that he had destroyed the only thing he ever truly cared about, shattered it into little pieces and then ground them beneath his heel. Merlin was his, always would be, but nothing would ever be the same again.


End file.
